W R I T E R / P O V
The room was still silent because fear had a sound of its own. Tonight, it lingered in every corner, pressing down on the air like an invisible weight.
More than twenty men stood in rigid stillness, their heads lowered, shoulders tense, hands clasped behind their backs. Nobody dared shift their weight, nobody dared clear their throat.
Even breathing felt dangerous, as though the very act might draw unwanted attention. The chandelier above bathed the hall in a golden glow, but the light did nothing to soften the coldness that seeped into the walls.
At the far end of the room sat a man in a black leather chair, posture relaxed, as if the tension surrounding him didn't exist.
One arm rested lazily on the armrest, while the other spun a single bullet between his fingers again and again.
The metallic click echoed softly, each rotation like a countdown, a death sentence waiting for its final signature.
Then—
The doors opened. A man was dragged inside. His shoes scraped violently against the marble floor, knees crashing down with a sharp crack that echoed through the chamber.
He cried out in pain, but nobody reacted. His suffering was irrelevant.
Sweat dripped down his pale face, lips trembling uncontrollably."Boss... boss please..." No response. The bullet continued spinning, slow, hypnotic.
"I swear... I searched the whole of Delhi... We are trying to find Cipher... but he isn't being found..."
The bullet stopped. Barely noticeable, but every man in the room felt it like thunder before a storm. The man in the chair raised his dark eyes. Cold. Not angry. Somehow, that made them worse.
"I asked you for Cipher." His voice was calm, controlled.
"Not excuses."
The criminal's stomach dropped. His fingers dug into the marble floor. "Boss... one more chance—"
"How many have I already given you?" The words weren't loud, but they landed like knives. Silence.
"One?" No answer.
"Two?" His breathing grew uneven.
"Or so many... that you forgot how to count?" The room grew impossibly quieter.
The man lowered his head, shoulders shaking. "I made a mistake..."
A smile flickered across Ruhan's lips—tiny, fleeting, but deadly. Every guard noticed. That smile had buried more people than bullets ever could.
"Mistake?" A short, dangerous laugh escaped him.
"A mistake is when your tea has less sugar than it should." The smile vanished instantly.
"You wasted my time." The room froze, colder than winter itself. The man broke completely.
"Please..." Ruhan tilted his head.
"Why do all of you use this word so much?"
The criminal's eyes were red, filled with tears. "Please. Please. Please."
The bullet rolled slowly between Ruhan's fingers. "Has anyone's life ever been saved by saying that?"
No answer. Ruhan finally stood. The sound of the chair scraping against the floor was deafening. Every guard straightened, heads lowered further.
Because they knew his anger wasn't dangerous. His calmness was.A calm Ruhan was like the ocean before a tsunami—moments away from destruction.
He stopped in front of the trembling man. "Do you know why I want Cipher?"
The man shook his head violently.
"No..." A darker smile returned.
"Good because everyone who knew the answer to that question... is already dead.''
The man's heartbeat stumbled. He forgot how to breathe. Silence swallowed the room whole.
Then suddenly—the doors burst open again. A guard rushed inside, pale, sweating, breath uneven.
"Boss..." His voice cracked. "We found out... Delhi Police Commissioner Vikram Sinha knows something." The bullet stopped moving.
For the first time since the meeting began, Ruhan's expression shifted—not fear, not surprise, but dangerous interest. A slow smile spread across his face, the kind predators wear when they finally spot movement in the dark.
"Finally..." He walked toward the massive glass window overlooking Mumbai. The city lights glittered below—beautiful, unaware.
"So, I finally found someone... who can help me." The guard hesitated.
"Sir... it won't be easy to reach the Commissioner." The smile widened, patient, deliberate.
"When did I ever say... that I would reach him?" The guard froze.
Ruhan whispered, "He will have to come to me." and suddenly, every man in that room felt sorry for Commissioner Vikram Sinha.
Because they knew whenever Ruhan wanted something, he always got it.
The smile on Ruhan's face remained, but his eyes had changed.
"Commissioner Vikram Sinha..." The name echoed through the hall and a few of the older men exchanged nervous glances.
They knew that name and they knew what it meant. For several seconds, Ruhan said nothing. The bullet continued spinning between his fingers
Click.
Click.
Click.
Then suddenly he laughed—coldly, the kind that made the room even more uncomfortable.
"Mama shri..." the words dripped with mockery. Nobody moved, neither spoke, because whenever Ruhan used that name, trouble followed.
A guard finally gathered enough courage. "Sir... what do you think? Does the Commissioner know something about Cipher?"
Ruhan's smile faded. Slowly, he stood up. His expensive black shoes echoed against the marble floor as he walked toward the center of the room.
"He does." The answer came instantly.
The guard blinked.
"Sir?" Ruhan stopped.
"I'm not saying he knows everything." His dark eyes narrowed. "But he definitely knows enough to give me what I want."
The room fell silent. Ruhan turned toward the massive glass window again. Mumbai stretched endlessly beneath him. Lights. Traffic. Noise.
All of it looked insignificant from where he stood. "mama shri..." he murmured again.
This time there was no smile. Only old hatred. Raw and unfinished. Dangerous.
One of the senior men carefully spoke. "Sir, what if the Commissioner refuses to cooperate?" A faint smirk appeared.
"Cooperate?" Ruhan chuckled.
"As far as I remember..." He slowly looked over his shoulder. "...when have I ever given mama shri a choice?"
The room froze and everyone understood that now it wasn't just about Cipher. This was personal. Years-old wounds were hidden beneath those calm words. The bullet stopped spinning.
For a moment, absolute silence took over. Then Ruhan placed the bullet on the table. A simple action. Yet every man straightened instantly because they knew a decision had been made.
"Delhi." His voice was calm.
"Sir?"
"We're going to Delhi." The room stiffened.
Ruhan almost never moved personally. He ruled from the shadows. Others fought his wars and carried out his orders.
But this time he was stepping onto the board himself—that was a dangerous sign.
"Prepare everything."
"Yes, sir."
"No mistakes."
"Yes, sir."
"No unnecessary bloodshed." The guards looked surprised.Ruhan noticed.
A cold smile touched his lips. "Not yet. As long as my sister is there, no blood will be spilled without reason."
he emphasis sent chills down their spines. Not yet.Meaning later was still possible because Ruhan was the worst nightmare of Delhi Police.
A phone was placed before him and inside it was a photograph of Commissioner Vikram Sinha leaving Police Headquarters earlier that day.
Ruhan stared at it silently, his expression unreadable, and then he picked up the photograph. For a long moment, nobody dared breathe.
Finally—
"You have no idea, mama shri..." his voice was barely above a whisper.
"...how important you are to me." The photograph crumpled slowly in his fist.
"...because you have the answers I need."
The room remained silent and for the first time that night—Even the men loyal to Ruhan felt uneasy because Cipher was no longer the only target.
Now the path led directly to Commissioner Vikram Sinha. And whenever Ruhan took something personally...People always disappeared.
Y U V I K A / P O V
I hate morning but actually hate was a so small word and absolutely despised them.
Every night I made grand plans; tomorrow I would wake up at six. do exercise and drink healthy juice.
Read newspapers and start the day like a responsible adult. but wait Every single night I believed this was biggest lie and every single morning reality slapped me in the face.
Literally.
because today my phone fell directly on my nose.
"OW!" I sat up instantly. my eyes watered, nose hurt and my alarm was still ringing.
TRRRRING!
TRRRRING!
TRRRRING!
I grabbed the phone.
"WHOEVER INVENTED ALARMS DESERVES JAIL."Â The alarm stopped and the room became silent.
I smiled Then looked at the time. 8:27 AM and my smile disappeared."OH MY GOD!" I jumped out of bed. Immediately got tangled in my blanket and fell straight on the floor.
For five seconds I simply lay there maybe if I didn't move... Life wouldn't notice me but unfortunately life always noticed me.
I stood up dramatically. "Today is going to be amazing."
The universe laughed at me and you know first five minutes were always a personal battle between me and responsibility and unfortunately, responsibility usually won.
I stretched my arms and walked toward the balcony fresh morning air greeted me instantly. The city was still waking up roads were quieter, the sky was painted in shades of orange and gold.
For a moment, everything felt peaceful.Beautiful. Simple. I loved moments like these.They reminded me that life existed beyond deadlines, interviews, and breaking news.
Then my phone vibrated.Three work emails with two notifications. One message from my editor and peace officially ended of mine "Wonderful."
I walked back inside. The smell of tea drifted from the kitchen and that immediately improved my mood.Tea solved most problems at least temporarily.
I quickly got ready and headed downstairs. My mother was already sitting at the dining table.
A cup of tea waited for me.
"Good morning." she smiled.
"Finally madam woke up"
"It's already six in the morning."
"Maa."
"Beta."I knew that tone. the lecture was coming. I could feel it.
"So..." There it was.
"When are you getting married?" I nearly choked on my tea.
"Good morning to you too." but she completely ignored me.
"Asking a simple question."
"You ask this every day."
"And one day you'll answer." I took another sip and said;
"I have a career."
"So?"
"I have responsibilities."
"So?"
"I have goals."
"So?"I stared at her and she stared back to me.
This conversation had no winner and It never did. Breakfast passed peacefully after that. Mostly because I refused to engage in any more marriage discussions.
At exactly nine -thirty, I returned to my room. My wardrobe stood neatly organized but my desk was never clean well Journalism was chaotic enough.
My room didn't need to be and I selected a simple white shirt and black trousers. looking completely Professional. After all, journalists spent more time running after stories than sitting in offices.
Comfort always came first and I tied my hair into a neat ponytail and looked in the mirror. Good enough. but not glamorous or extraordinary. Just me and honestly? I liked that.
By ten o'clock, I was ready. with Laptop and notebook also my favourite Recorder. Everything checked twice. Then checked again because experience had taught me one thing.
The moment you forgot something important was the exact moment you needed it.
I grabbed my bag and headed toward the door.
"Maa, I'm leaving!"
"Take care!"
"Eat lunch on time!"
"I will!"
"Don't skip meals!"
"I won't!"
"Drink water!"
"Maa!" She laughed and I laughed too.
Some things never changed. Outside, the city was fully awake now and cars filled the roads. People rushed toward offices. street vendors arranged their stalls. life moved quickly. relentlessly and I loved it.
A cab stopped in front of me. I got inside and immediately opened my notebook. Work mode but not my favorite mode.
Today's schedule was packed. with Research and Meetings. Most people found that exhausting. I found it exciting.
Every story felt like a puzzle.
Every interview felt like a challenge.
Every truth felt worth chasing. My phone buzzed again and another message from my editor.
Don't be late.
I smiled.
I'm always on time.
His reply came instantly.
That confidence worries me.
I laughed.
Somewhere between journalism and deadlines, my editor had become an unofficial second parent but a far more terrifying parent.
The cab continued moving through the busy streets. I looked outside the window. The city was alive with full of stories with secrets and people with lives nobody knew about.
And that was exactly why I loved being a journalist because behind every face there was a story waiting to be told. And if there was one thing I had learned over the years...
W R I T E R / P O V
The hall had emptied, but fear never truly left Vardhan Mansion. It remained in the walls. In the silence. In the way servants lowered their eyes the moment footsteps echoed from the upper floor.
No one in this mansion ever forgot whose house this was. Ruhan Vardhan's. A man who did not need to raise his voice to terrify people. A man whose silence had ruined more lives than rage ever could.
The chandeliers still glowed across the endless corridors of the Mumbai mansion, casting gold over marble floors and black glass walls, but the beauty of the place was deceptive. Nothing here was soft. Nothing here felt like home. It felt like a kingdom built for a king who had forgotten how to be human.
On the second floor, behind a pair of dark wooden doors, Ruhan stood inside his private study, staring at the city through the massive glass wall in front of him.
Mumbai stretched below like a sea of glittering lies. His reflection stood in the glass like a shadow wearing a man's face.
One hand rested in his pocket. The other held the crumpled photograph of Commissioner Vikram Sinha.
Knock.
Only once. Ruhan didn't turn. "Come in." The door opened immediately, and a man stepped inside carrying a black file in one hand and a tablet in the other. Aaryan Malhotra. Ruhan's assistant. His most trusted shadow in Mumbai.
He had worked for Ruhan long enough to know three things. Never speak more than necessary. Never hide information. and never mistake Ruhan's calmness for mercy. "Sir," Aaryan said quietly.
Ruhan kept looking at the city. "If you're here to waste my time, leave." Aaryan didn't react. "I have details on Commissioner Vikram Sinha."
That made Ruhan turn. Not fully. Just enough for his eyes to fall on Aaryan.
And suddenly the room felt colder.
"Speak."
Aaryan stepped forward and placed the file on the desk, but he didn't open it yet. He knew Ruhan hated unnecessary movement when he was listening.
"Commissioner Vikram Sinha," Aaryan began carefully. "Delhi Police. Untouched reputation. Clean public record. No scandals worth blackmail. No financial weakness. No woman. No gambling. No addictions.
"Ruhan's lips curved faintly. "So mama shri is still pretending to be a saint."
Aaryan stayed silent for a second before continuing."He lives in Delhi. His official residence is under heavy security, but not impossible to breach. His daily routine changes often enough to avoid patterns, though there are still a few fixed points."
Ruhan placed the crumpled photograph on the table. "Such as?" Aaryan opened the file. "Police Headquarters. Evening visits to the old Sinha residence twice a month. And..." he paused.
Ruhan's gaze lifted slowly. "And?" Aaryan chose his next words with care. "and his daughter."
Silence.
The kind of silence that had once made a minister faint in this very room. Ruhan didn't blink. he didn't move. But Aaryan felt it—the invisible shift in the air.
The same shift everyone felt whenever Mahi's name entered a room Ruhan was standing in. "What about her?" Ruhan asked quietly. Aaryan swallowed. "She's his weak point." Ruhan's expression remained still.
Aaryan continued anyway.
"Commissioner Vikram Sinha can ignore pressure from politicians. He can reject money. He can fight enemies. He can survive public attacks. But if anything concerns his daughter..." Aaryan's voice lowered, "...his decisions stop being those of a Commissioner and start becoming those of a father."
For a long moment, Ruhan said nothing. Then he laughed.Softly.Dangerously.
"Of course she is." Aaryan frowned slightly.
"Sir?" Ruhan walked toward the desk, slow and unhurried, like a man approaching a secret only he understood. "Every strong man has one weakness, Aaryan."
His fingers brushed the file. "The fools hide it. The intelligent ones call it family." Aaryan said nothing because family was the one subject nobody in Mumbai ever touched around Ruhan unless he brought it up first. And even then, it was like walking barefoot over broken glass.
Ruhan opened the file himself now, flipping through the pages without hurry. Vikram Sinha. Security routes. Call records. Trusted officers. Political pressure points. Old property links. He skimmed it all with cold precision, but Aaryan noticed something.
Ruhan's eyes paused on one specific line. Family connections — Delhi. Ruhan's jaw tightened almost invisibly. Aaryan cleared his throat carefully. "Sir... there is one more thing."
Ruhan looked up. "Say it." Aaryan kept his voice respectful. "Most people in Mumbai think you don't have family." A faint smile touched Ruhan's lips."Most people in Mumbai don't know enough to stay alive."
Aaryan lowered his eyes immediately. "Yes, sir." Ruhan closed the file.
"Go on." Aaryan nodded. "The truth is exactly what we've always kept buried. You have no one in Mumbai. No one except your own people here. Your nana and nani are still in Delhi. Vikram Sinha is still connected to them. And..." he hesitated just enough for the pause to be dangerous, "...Mahi is still the only person whose name changes your orders."
Silence.
Aaryan immediately regretted the wording. but Ruhan only stared at him. Not angry. Not surprised. Just... staring. The kind of stare that made a man question whether he had already signed his own death warrant.
Then Ruhan asked, "Do you know why you're still alive after saying that?"
Aaryan answered honestly. "No, sir." Ruhan leaned back against the desk, eyes unreadable. "Because you said it without lying." Aaryan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Ruhan's voice remained calm."I don't have family in Mumbai, Aaryan. Mumbai is Just part of my business." He looked toward the glass wall again. "Family lives in Delhi." Aaryan listened quietly.
Ruhan continued, almost as if speaking to himself. "My nana."
A pause.
"My nani."
Another pause.
Then, softer—
"Mahi."
Aaryan noticed the difference instantly. Ruhan said his grandparents' names like unfinished duty. He said Mahi's name like a warning to the world. "And Vikram Sinha?" Aaryan asked before he could stop himself.
The room fell silent. Ruhan slowly turned his head. Aaryan cursed himself internally. He had crossed a line. But Ruhan didn't punish him. Not yet. Instead, he smiled. A cold, unreadable, deeply unsettling smile.
"Vikram Sinha..." he repeated, as if tasting the name. "That depends on the day." Aaryan frowned faintly. Ruhan looked down at the photograph again. "Some days," he said quietly, "I remember him as the man who used to stand near my nana's house like he owned every answer in the world."
He picked up the photograph and studied Vikram's face. "Some days, I remember him as the man who thought he could decide what was right for everyone." Aaryan remained still.
Ruhan's fingers tightened over the photo. "And some days..." his voice dropped lower, "...I remember him as the reason certain graves exist at all." Aaryan's throat went dry. There it was.
The thing nobody in the mansion knew in full. The thing buried somewhere between Delhi, family, and old blood. Ruhan had history with Vikram Sinha. Not business. Not simple rivalry. History. Personal, ugly, unfinished history.
Aaryan carefully asked, "Sir... does Commissioner Sinha know you're coming to Delhi?" Ruhan's eyes lifted with terrifying calm. "No."
"Do you want him to know?"
"No."
"Do you want him to fear it when he finds out?" Ruhan's lips curved. "Very much." Aaryan nodded once and looked at the tablet. "We've also received updated reports from the mansion staff and internal security. Everyone has been informed you're leaving for Delhi." Ruhan raised an eyebrow. "And?"Aaryan almost smiled, but thought better of it. "The entire mansion is on edge."That earned him a brief glance.
Ruhan's expression didn't change. Aaryan, however, knew exactly why it was happening. Everyone in this mansion feared Ruhan Vardhan. Not respected. Not merely obeyed. Feared.
The older servants still remembered the first year after Ruhan took over the Vardhan empire in Mumbai—when he had returned from Delhi with a face too young for the cruelty in his eyes and blood on his hands that nobody dared ask about.
The guards remembered how he had once fired six men in a single night and by morning nobody in the city could find them.
The accountants remembered how he had discovered a hidden fraud of only ten lakhs and still made an example out of the man responsible, not because of the money... but because the man had assumed Ruhan wouldn't notice.
The staff remembered every shattered glass, every cold order, every silence that had ended with someone begging. No one in this mansion knew how to relax around him.
Aaryan finally said it aloud. "They're afraid of you, sir." Ruhan's face remained unreadable. "They should be." Aaryan nodded. "I know."
Ruhan walked toward the bar table in the corner, poured himself water instead of alcohol, and took a slow sip. Aaryan watched in silence. That, too, unsettled people about Ruhan. He rarely drank when he was angry. He drank water like a man preparing for war with a clear head.
"Tell me about Delhi security," Ruhan said. Aaryan opened the tablet. "Your jet can be ready within two hours. I've arranged a temporary operational base near Civil Lines under a shell company. Weapons will be moved separately. Three of our men are already in Delhi. Five more can reach before dawn." Ruhan set the glass down.
"No large teams."
Aaryan blinked. "Sir?"
"I said no large teams."
"But Commissioner Sinha—"
"I know exactly who Commissioner Sinha is." Ruhan's voice sharpened just enough to slice the air. "I don't need an army to meet one man."
Aaryan looked back at the file. "There's another detail, sir."
"What now?"
"The Commissioner has been looking into a few old sealed files recently. Not official case reopenings but more like private checks." Ruhan's hand stilled over the bullet lying on the desk. "Which files?"
"We don't have the full names yet." Aaryan hesitated. "But one internal source heard a word before the call was cut." Ruhan's eyes narrowed.
"What word?" Aaryan looked at him.
"Cipher."
Silence.
This time it wasn't ordinary silence. It was the kind that felt like the room itself had just realized it was standing too close to something fatal. Ruhan picked up the bullet. Turned it once between his fingers. Twice.
Then his smile appeared not dramatic Just enough to make Aaryan's pulse misfire. "So mama shri really has been busy."
Aaryan asked carefully, "What does that mean?" Ruhan's gaze shifted to the city lights. "It means Vikram Sinha is not just connected to Cipher." He rolled the bullet across his knuckles. "It means he has been searching for something."
Aaryan's voice lowered. "The same thing you're searching for?" Ruhan smiled without looking at him. "What a dangerous question." Aaryan went silent.
Ruhan continued, "The difference between me and Vikram Sinha, Aaryan, is simple." He placed the bullet on the desk. "When I search for answers, people disappear."
He picked up the photograph. "When he searches for answers..." his eyes darkened, "...he pretends it's for justice."
Aaryan watched him carefully. "And what if it isn't justice, sir?" Ruhan finally looked at him. "Then Delhi is already in much bigger trouble than it knows."
Aaryan felt a chill run down his spine. For a few seconds, only the hum of the air conditioning filled the room. Then Ruhan spoke again. "Who knows I'm leaving Mumbai?"
"Only inner circle staff, your security head, and me."
"Wrong." Aaryan frowned. Ruhan tossed the photograph onto the desk. "By morning, half the India's underworld will know something has changed. Men like me don't travel quietly, no matter how much we try." He looked toward the dark glass wall.
"The real question is this—how many people in Delhi will understand what it means?" Aaryan didn't answer. Because he didn't know.
And because Ruhan wasn't truly asking him. Ruhan was asking the ghosts of Delhi. Asking Vikram. Asking the past. Asking whatever secret named Cipher had dragged all of them back into the same story.
Aaryan broke the silence carefully. "Sir... if I may ask one thing?" Ruhan didn't stop him. "When you stand in front of Commissioner Vikram Sinha... what exactly do you want from him?"
For the first time in the entire conversation, Ruhan went completely still. Not calm. Still like even breathing had become unnecessary. When he finally answered, his voice was barely above a whisper. "The truth."
Aaryan frowned. "About Cipher?" Ruhan's eyes remained fixed on the city. "About everything." The answer was so quiet, so controlled, that it sounded more dangerous than a scream ever could.
Aaryan's grip tightened around the tablet. "Sir..." Ruhan cut him off. "Do you know what the problem with old lies is, Aaryan?"
"No, sir." Ruhan's reflection stared back at him from the glass. "They rot."
A pause. "And when they rot long enough..." His eyes darkened. "...they start smelling like dead people." Aaryan said nothing. What could he say to that? This wasn't just a mission anymore. This wasn't even just revenge.
This was Ruhan walking back toward something buried in Delhi something tied to Mahi, to Vikram, to his grandparents, and to a name called Cipher.
And whatever it was, Ruhan had decided he would dig it out with his bare hands if necessary. Aaryan looked down once more at the notes in front of him.
"Your car is ready whenever you want to leave for the airstrip." Ruhan gave a small nod. "Good." Aaryan waited. Ruhan didn't dismiss him.
Instead, he asked quietly, "Tell me something honestly." Aaryan straightened. "Yes, sir."
"When I leave this mansion tonight..." Ruhan's voice remained calm, "what are they all expecting?" Aaryan understood immediately who they were. The guards. The servants. The drivers. The men who worked in this mansion and feared their employer more than God.
He answered truthfully. "They think someone in Delhi is going to die." Ruhan stared at him for a moment. Then a slow, chilling smile spread across his face.
"How optimistic of them." Aaryan's blood ran cold. Ruhan moved past him toward the door. "Come with me." Aaryan followed instantly.
The study doors opened, and the moment Ruhan stepped into the corridor, the effect was immediate. A maid at the far end nearly dropped the folded bedsheet in her hands before catching it at the last second. Two guards standing outside the staircase straightened so fast their shoes scraped the floor.
A servant carrying tea lowered his eyes and pressed himself against the wall as though he could disappear into it. No one spoke. No one looked directly at Ruhan.
He walked through the corridor in complete silence, black shirt sleeves folded at his forearms, expensive watch glinting beneath the chandelier light, his expression calm enough to terrify everyone more.
Aaryan followed half a step behind.As they descended the staircase, the mansion grew even quieter. It was almost unnatural. As if the entire building had noticed its king was moving. Ruhan stopped in the middle of the stairs and looked down at the enormous hall below.
Servants froze. A guard near the entrance immediately lowered his head. Ruhan's gaze swept across them all once. Just once. That was enough. The fear deepened.
Because everyone in Vardhan Mansion knew one truth better than their own names—Ruhan Vardhan belonged to no one. Mumbai had his empire. Delhi had his past. And the few people he still called his own were dangerous to even think about.
His grandparents. Mahi. Vikram Sinha. A broken family tied together by secrets, distance, and old blood. Ruhan's voice finally broke the silence. "Aaryan."
"Yes, sir?"
"When we reach Delhi..." He resumed walking down the stairs. "...make sure mama shri doesn't sleep peacefully."
Aaryan's fingers tightened around the file. "Understood." Ruhan reached the last step and headed for the main doors.
The night outside waited like a witness. "And Aaryan..."
"Yes, sir?" Ruhan paused at the entrance, one hand on the carved black door. This time, when he smiled, it was worse than before. Because it held patience. Cruel, elegant, terrifying patience.
"I want death of mama shri....."
To be continued.....
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